Plot Bunnies
by The Fangirl of Awesome Stuff
Summary: Just the little a bunny farm to make me stop trying to start new stories when I have more than enough to worry about. PM me if you want to adop one, or just if you want to have a nerd talk.


**A/N: This is the beginning to a hobbit fix it au. Enjoy, review, even adopt if you like.**

 ** _Bilbo_**

Bilbo watched his nephew as he talked with Gandalf, laughing at something the old wizard had said. Frodo's eye lit up as he laughed, and the old hobbit couldn't help but smile fondly. His dear nephew deserves all the happiness in the world, and Bilbo may have failed to protect him from the ring, but he was grateful to see the light back in the dark haired hobbit's eyes.

That accursed rig. Bilbo's thoughts darkened at the thought of the thing. He was glad to know that it was destroyed. If there was one thing in Middle Earth he blamed for what happened to Frodo more than himself, it was the ring.

Turning his attention to another group when he heard boisterous laughter, his face smoothed out when he spotted the red headed dwarf that looked so like his father laughing with Legolas.

Gloin had tracked him down after the meeting at Rivendel, and he and the his old friend had talked some. Now, watching his son, talking to an elf, and the prince of Mirkwood at that, he couldn't help but think of the rest of his dwarves.

Balin...wise Balin, Bofur, his first friend among them, silent but kind Bifur, gruff Dwalin, Oin, with his ear trumpet, mothering Dori, sticky-fingered Nori, poor...sweet, Ori, Bombour, and his many snacks...and-

Bilbo cut off his thought right there. It wouldn't do to start crying like a small fauntling again, and thinking of the last three were a sure way as thinking about Bungo's tender smile and Belladonna's horrendous off-key singing.

Oh...but his poor dwarves. Even after so many years, it still hurt, and ached, and burned as fiercely as it had the day after. Anyone who had ever said that time heals all wounds to him would be labeled the worst kind of fool and promptly find him gone from their presence, lest some of those fool thoughts bled over to him, thank you very much.

Bilbo sighed to himself again, turning to stare into the vast ocean. It was hard to think of Kili, Fili,...and Thorin. Even now, he would sometimes forget himself, and turn to grin at where the two mischievous dwarves should be standing when some little fauntling got into some jam or another, only to turn to no one. He still turned to ask Th- him a question on dwarves history, only to be greeted by empty space. And every single time, he would just stand there, and the constant ache that never(wouldn't, not ever,) go away would flare up, like brand new. And Bilbo was left floundering and fighting tears every time.

On days like those, Bilbo took his pipe, and his Old Toby, and went and sat himself beneath the oak tree,( grown from the very same acorn he had picked at Beorn's. Thorin had said to plant his tree, and he had) and smoke until he could at be sure he wasn't going to completely fall apart at his ripped, tattered seems.

'Well', the hobbit thought to himself, 'It's all almost over now'. And it was. Bilbo was old, so very old(he never wanted to be this old without him, but Thorin would have wanted him to live), and his time was almost up. Bilbo was dying, had been for a long time. For hobbits were not as sturdy as dwarves, men and elves. He had been Fading since...since Kili, Fili, and Thirin had died.

Family was everything to a Hobbit, more precious than any pretty coin or jewel. It was what brightens your halls, it held you, it gave you something to tut your tongue, or scream yourself hoarse at, it put light in your eyes, and joy in your days. All those years ago, he had misled Thorin. Home wasn't Bag-End. It hadn't been his home in a long time.(Not since before that cold, terrible, awful winter) Home wasn't a house; it wasn't a simple place. It was the smile of your father, the gentle hugs of your mother, the sound of your sons or daughters laughter, the tender love in your lover's eyes.

Bag-End was the place he lived and nothing more. His belongings were kept for the memories they held, not the shine, or the feel. They were there to remind him of his father's tea, of his mother's favorite biscuit, and the stubborn pride his father took in all of his prized silver ware. Yes, he had lost a his home long before 13 dwarves had shoved themselves through his green( before, it had been yellow, like the color of Belladonna's curls) and into his life.

Back then, in the deep private of his thoughts, he had thought that these dwarves could be his home. The loud, rude, rowdy, poor-mannered(kind, sweet, loyal) bunch of dwarves that had dragged him out his front door. And it seemed like they would, at first. They had reached the mountain, rid it of Smaug, and reclaimed Erebor. Then, Thorin...changed. He started spending more time in the treasury, drove the others ever harder to find the Arkenstone, and when he said that, "Arkenstone", he would get this glint in his eye that Bilbo had never seen before, and wished to never see again. It made his eyed darken from their usual fierce, clear blue to a horrible blue-black. It was when they had their talk about the acorn that did it. Bilbo realized that his friend, the one who had hugged him on Carrock and defended his nephews from harm was being drowned under this ghost of the true him.

And just like that, his family, his home had slipped through his fingers. And here he was, an old, foolish Hobbit, still living in the past. Because, Bilbo Baggins had died that day, on the ice. If not in body, in spirit. He held on for so long, because Thorin wanted him to live. And if there was anything that Bilbo could do for his poor King, if it wasn't letting him die in the first place, it was live for him.

So he had held off the urge to Fade. He had pushed it aside, the hollowness, lethargy, the ache, and he had lived. All the better he had done some good for the world, raising Frodo. Not that he cared a lick about the world. No, he had took one look at the grieving faunt with his dark curls and crystal blue eyes, and he had felt love. For the first time since the death of his second home, he felt something more than his the constant ache if the wound on his heart. So he took the little hobbit into his arms and he had comforted and fed and clothed him. And slowly, he watched him grow into the hobbit he was now.

Bilbo couldn't be more proud of his nephew he thought of as a son. He had saved all of Middle-Earth, and made sure it was safe for every man, hobbit, dwarf, wizard and elf. But Bilbo couldn't help but wish that Frodo hadn't been made to grow through all that. He wished his boy, his dear son, hadn't had to bear the burden that was rightfully Blibo's. It had been he that dragged the ring out of its dark pit. Mostly, anyway, for the ring had wanted to be rid of Gollum, and find a new being to live off of, or so Gandalf had said.

Apparently, it could whisper in the minds of Men, Dwarf and Elf, although Bilbo had never heard a word.( Truly, the ring had tried to ensnare the hobbit as it did with so many before him, but the most it could do was inspire a urge to hide it away from others, and sometimes, angry outbursts, but those had been few before Frodo and none after.)

Bilbo shook his head, pulling himself out of the line of thoughts. He had thought much the same ones many times before, and he knew if he didn't stop here, it would be on his mind all day. Shifting in his chair, he tried to ease some of the ache in his old bones, and suddenly caught sight of land in the horizon.

Somehow, Bilbo knew that he wouldn't make it long enough to set a foot on that land. He would die on this boat, surrounded by friends, and his dear Frodo would mourn him, but he would go on. The dark-haired hobbit didn't need his mad old Uncle anymore. He would be heading for Yavanna's garden shortly now. ( Though he knew, deep in his soul, he would not be happy there. No, he would not find peace until he saw his dear ones again, and he would never be allowed to enter Mahal's Hall of the Dead.)

Bilbo turned to look around the boat one last time. His eyes resting on Gandalf and Elrond, Frodo and his group in one corner and Gimli and Legolas in another. Sending his nephew one more fond, loving look, he closed his eyes for the last time.

Gandalf looked up sharply, a surprised look on his face as his eyes zeroed in on where Bilbo sat, entirely still in his chair. Elrond looked too, and as his eyes rested on the hobbit, they dulled with sadness. The two shared a look, and Gandalf looked to where young Frodo was laughing at something Sam had said, and smiled a sad, smile that spoke of just a bit amusement.

"Just like you, Bilbo, to slip away quietly without fuss, with everyone none the wiser." Gandalf murmured and bowed his head. He walked toward Frodo, to tell him of Bilbo's passing and quietly whispered, to himself it's seemed.

"May you finally allow yourself peace in your rest, old friend"


End file.
